


Black Tie Affair #7

by somekindofseizure



Series: Black Tie Affair [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, James Bond - Freeform, MSR, Spies, Undercover, talking dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure





	

 

Scully looked around the square planet of a room that was now their home – cold, uninhabitable, with dank, dusty footprints kicked up by unwelcome human interference.  The single lightbulb slung hastily above their heads flickered nervously as it traced the pendulous arc between them.  A territorial spider crawled across the gaping slit over her thigh, where the threads had pulled and peeled up to perilous heights as she’d kicked and bucked in vain for her freedom.  

She’d set out with the best of intentions for many missions now.  Each evening she’d threaded her ears with jewels in the mirror as she plotted to end the affair she’d been having with Mulder – or rather, that her alterego had been having with his (relentlessly and unwaveringly referred to as James Bond).  She’d leave the house with firm resolve, reminding herself how irresponsible she’d been – not only at her job, but with the integrity of their partnership, their friendship.   On occasion, they’d even discussed their errors, made plans to correct them, but then she’d find herself in some hysterically romantic setting, her back pressed against smooth marble, her waist in the grip of his hand, his lips whispering _Miss Moneypenny_ into her ear.  

Tonight had almost been a success. She had maintained perfectly chilly professionalism as they paraded around, searching dark back rooms full of leather couches she wouldn’t mind sinking Mulder’s bare skin into, desks she wouldn’t mind clearing with one hand, her dress hiked in the other.  She’d resisted all of it, to what end?  Getting tossed around a basement and bound in torn clothes to a chair.  And not by Mulder _or_ James Bond.

Their bad guys were out of the room, presumably getting further instructions on when and how to kill them. There was a sweaty, hazy feeling of fear evaporating and then hovering.  They’d be safe, but only for the next few minutes.  The lifting of the lid off a pot of boiling terror, only to let it cook more thoroughly.  

She took a deep breath, trying to get enough clarity to form a plan, or to at least know if a plan was possible. The dress had been a bit snug in this size, but the waist swimmy in the next.  She’d calculated exactly how much she could eat before the seams would split. But she hadn’t figured in being tied up in awkward positions.  Tears burned the corners of her eyes and she swallowed hard, not wanting to make this any worse for Mulder – or any more joyous for the asshole bad guys who were sure to return any moment.

“Did you hear them throw the lock? I didn’t hear a lock,” Mulder said with typical nonchalance from the chair beside her.  She tried to shake a strand of hair loose from her lipstick, eyes narrowing as her anger transferred itself from the absent kidnappers to the more local cause of her current detainment.  She’d argued with him about taking that last turn down the hallway upstairs and, as usual, lost.

“What does it matter if the door’s locked?” she asked.  “We’re tied to chairs.”

“Just thinking ahead.”

Of course.  Mulder couldn’t even get in touch with his feelings long enough to fear impending doom.  And she was worried about him falling in love with her based on her prowess in the bedroom (or more accurately, staircases, sports cars, nightclub backrooms)?  She suddenly felt foolish, realizing he was not the one whose heart she was worried about.  She clamped her eyes shut, then remembered the heavy sweep of shadow above her lashes.  An urge to scratch her eye surged in her muscles and the rope prickled at her wrists.

“Don’t fidget,” Mulder said. “You’ll cause swelling, the knots will tighten.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said, though she knew he was right. 

She gazed longingly at her gun, resting right beside Mulder’s on a bare table across the room, forbidden pastries at a fast. 

“Scully,” Mulder said and she looked at the ceiling, catching a spark of his cologne.  She looked over, gaze landing on the blood stained ruffled shirt pulled taut across his chest.  He’d lost a few of those shiny black buttons, the ones added dandily to a tuxedo just for show. “What are you thinking?”

His eyes were more green than gold in this light, envy conquering virtue, and around the left one a full rainbow of colors bloomed where he’d been punched.   Even now, even since they’d begun whatever they’d begun, she so rarely took him in like this, so rarely acknowledged his fundamental beauty to herself. This might be the last time she’d get the chance to do so.

“You’ve been a great friend and partner, Mulder.  I’m sorry for whatever role I’ve played in this.” Her throat clogged with swallowed pride.

Mulder chuckled.  “You really think we’re going to die here and that’s the best you’ve got?”

“What do you expect, a confession of undying love?”

Mulder shrugged as best he could in his current circumstances.  She turned her face, wishing there were anything – _anything_ else in this fucking room to look at other than his collar and bowtie popped open around his neck, jacket flung open down his arms, hair still parted and neatly folded to one side.  Focusing on his clothes, his hair, the novelty of his presentation meant wading in the shallow end of her admiration.  She knew she would not drown in a pool of well made suits as she might in his eyes. 

“I mean, if you really think we’re gonna die,” he said, trailing off with cartoonish gloom. 

The lightbulb buzzed and then went out with a hiss.  Scully groaned as the room pitched into darkness and she thought of the spider, of all the things that might be crawling around this place.  She listened for signs of Mulder’s panic, but his breath was barely audible, cadence regular as a metronome.  She tried to follow it, calm herself to its rhythm, and sure enough, the panic dulled again.  Her eyes adjusted a bit, morphing black into deep purple, making things visible, but only at the edges of objects where the shade of one thing didn’t match that of another.  This was it, she thought, and the tears began to fall.  She let them, knowing he couldn’t see her.  But he knew her too well. 

“I’m going to get us out of here, Scully, don’t worry.”   

“Oh yeah?  How?”

“They’re going to come back in here in a few minutes.  I’ll talk my way out of it.”

Scully licked her lips, wondering how much color was left after two glasses of champagne and a fight sequence.

“You don’t think I can do it,” he said.

“No.” 

“You underestimate my dominance of the English language.”

Her heart ticked a little louder, putting together the mismatched pieces of his word choice, her captivity and Mulder’s nearness.  She was going to die without ever letting anyone do that to her – tie her up for pleasure’s sake.  Maybe someday she’d have let Mulder.  The trust was there, but it would probably require letting him into her actual bedroom, which was out of bounds.  A rodent squeaked and scurried nearby, dragging her back to reality.  Of the many ways she’d pictured Mulder getting her killed, she had never imagined it draped in eveningwear, soaked in her best perfume, surrounded by rats and spiders.

“ _You look beautiful in that dress_ ,” he said and she could hear in the tone of his voice that this was Bond, not Mulder.  He was trying to distract her.  She ticked through the compendium of references she’d been carrying around for this game and the line came to her - 

 _“You don’t scrub up so bad yourself.”_  

_“It’s amazing what you can do with an extra pair of hands.”_

“An extra,” she said with more cynicism than any Bond girl had ever managed in her life.  “We don’t even have one pair between us.”

“I wish I did.  I wish my hands were free.”

“Obviously, yes, that would be good.”

“I wish my hands were free so I could slip one of them into that slit up your left leg and squeeze the inside of your thigh, feel the muscles there tense and release.”  She squinted one eye and looked in his direction even though she could barely see him, grazed her bottom lip with her teeth as she tried to remember which movie it was.  

“I don’t know this one.”

“This one’s not Bond,” he said and her brow began to uncrinkle just as the light flickered on.  His eyes unwrapped her, taking her clothes like cheap, shiny paper, first her shoulders from their silk spaghetti straps and then… The tension of her arms pulled behind her caused her décolleté to rise and press into the straight, square neckline of her dress when she breathed. She wiggled a little under his gaze, feeling lodged somewhere between self-conscious and empowered.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a low voice.  

“I’m trying to prove I can talk them out of killing us.  I can talk anybody into anything.”  And as if to give them privacy, the light went out again.

“What are you talking me into?”

“Coming in your chair.”

She scoffed and cocked her chin to the side, but he continued.

“If I could get my hands free, they would be wrapped around the inside of your thigh and I’d lean my face down to kiss you right beneath the ear.”  She tsked softly, but just for show – she was already thinking of her real response, the way her body tended to yawn and stretch to his touch.

“Just, right there,” he said, though he had no way of indicating it, and she couldn’t see it if he had.  “Work my way around the front of your neck to your collarbone.”

Scully finally exhaled, eyes closed, body expelling the air like water from a twist of wet hair.  One strap of her dress fell down her arm and she scooted up on her tailbone, as if to take wanton advantage.  It was a subtle notion, one Mulder wouldn’t have noticed if the lights were on.  But the dark had amplified the quiet of the room, and the sound of the fabric moving against her skin was loud as a sharp pair of scissors.

“Yes, just like that, Scully, I’d bring that strap down and nudge your nipple to the very crest of your gown, and leave it there, let it harden as you strain against the material.”

Strain she did – squirming in the stickiness that was gathering between her legs, trying to roll her hips enough to press into the chair.  The lights came on and she didn’t care, her desire making no room for embarrassment.  

“Okay, I think you’ve got the point,” he said, but there was a smirk on his face, a fly-splitting erection in his pants.  She could almost forget the fact that these could be her last moments – looking at the handsome cut of his jaw, the soft lips, swollen softer by the punch he’d taken for her, the long legs that could wrap around hers almost twice.

“Want me to keep going?” he asked. She nodded, grateful he didn’t make her ask for it.  “Good,” he said, also nodding, as though this were the most appropriate activity for this time and place, as if he’d taken it from some manual.  And maybe he had.  The Manual for Sexy Spies about to Die an Unpleasant Death.  She’d lost her copy.  

“I want you to feel how hard I am for you,” he said smoothly, his confidence untouched by the presence of light. “I want to press myself into that little slope inside your hipbone, slide my hand up your thigh and move your panties aside-“

She shook her head no.

“No what?”  Scully dug her heel into the ground as she pivoted the chair, scraping against the floor till she was angled facing him.  The slit climbed a little higher into the atmosphere as she spread her feet as wide as the legs of the chair. Mulder gulped and stared, first between her legs, then into her eyes – a challenge and then a prayer.

“Forget the panties thing, then.”

“My mother always told me wear clean underwear because every day your number could be up.  Wish I would have listened.”

“What else did your mother teach you?”

She knew what he meant.

“I had to take it all off. The material of the dress is too fine, it shows everything,” she said, pretending she hadn’t thought of his tongue against her skin as she’d shirred herself smooth that afternoon in the shower.

“I’d, um – um –“

She tried not to smile.  “You were sliding your hand up…”

“Oh right.  I’d place my middle finger, the longest one, inside you, press the heel of my hand right where you want it.”  His voice was a little shaky now, his footing a little uncertain on the ledge of each word, but that only made it feel more real.  Scully felt tiny infant beads of sweat begin to drip behind her ears, between her breasts.  She opened her legs a little wider, eyes closed, pleasure intensifying to the sound of the dress tearing all the way up to her hip, pelvic bone seeking the hard curve of the wooden seat with near success.  

“And then,” he said.  She could practically feel the whisper on her cheek.  “Then I’d lift you up against one of these dusty walls and when you’re good and ready for me –“

“I’m ready.”

“My dick would slide up inside you, reach for you until your lower back arches and I’d fuck you nice and slow.”

“Oh my God.”

“Good,” he said, as if trying to encourage her to speak up.  She had no intention of doing so – talking nonsense was his strength, not hers.  The angle of her body to the chair was not quite good enough and she longed to unhinge her hips from her body.  She almost laughed as her panic of death ceded completely to panic of not getting the release she now needed.

“I love the way you take me in, the way your body sucks at me so tightly –“ 

Her head dropped back between her shoulder blades in frustration and he growled as if losing his concentration.

“I want to go down on you tied to that chair, take your dress off and kiss you everywhere-“ 

He interrupted himself with a sigh. “I’m so crazy about you.  I can’t do this anymore.” 

“So go back to the other one,” she groaned, annoyed but impressed that his withholding was so effective on her. “Any of the scenarios is fine, just keep talking.” 

“No, I don’t mean that, I mean, you, in general.  I’m in love with you.”

She looked at him, her eyelids shimmying off heavy lust, her legs swiveling at the hip joint as easy as a jar under warm water. 

“For real.  Not the alterego.  You.  I can’t keep doing this and then having to go go home without you –“   

Why the fuck was this turning her on and why did he know it would?  Or was he really having the conversation she’d been meaning to have earlier this evening?  Ending it with her before they died?  That was so Mulder, to break up with someone on the same night they were going to be murdered.

“Worrying about the day they take the job away from us and you away from me.”  

Her lower stomach spasmed with desire.  Somewhere in the distance, there were footsteps.

“That’s fine, this is the last time,” she said.  “Because we’re going to be killed.  Now tell me how you’d fuck me, quick, so I can die happy.”

“Christ.  I’m serious, Scully.”

“Say that again.” He knew what she meant.

“Christ, Scully…”

She hummed and brought her knees together, squeezing her legs tight, hoping to send enough sensation traveling up her quad muscles to -

“Scully!”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Open your eyes.”  She did, and saw that his hands were free.  “Told you I could talk my way out of anything.” Her cheeks burned so red she was almost sorry they were going to live to talk about it.

“Get the guns,” she said as he came over for her instead.

“I want to untie you first.”

“Guns first, in case they come in.”

“I might need your help with them,” he said, fingers scrambling at her wrists.

“I thought you were going to talk.”

“I wore myself out.”

“Goddammit, Mulder, get the guns, I hear them.”

“They must have heard you moaning,” he said just as he loosened the last loop of the knot.  “Shit.”  The doorknob was turning.  He sat back in his chair, posing with his hands behind his back, holding the excess rope in his fist so as not to give himself away.

“Gentlemen,” Mulder said as they came in.  One of them was rubbing a sharp knife against his sleeve.  “Don’t you think a wire around the neck would be less messy? Like the mob?”  The bad guys looked at each other and Scully held her breath as she slowly and silently turned her wrists under the semi-loose rope, careful to hold onto the slack with her fingers, lest it all drop to the floor. 

The men left the room and Scully listened for ten footsteps, then jumped out of her chair.  Mulder grabbed her wrist and took off running, tearing down the hallway and up the stairs.  Her wrist was warm and burning where his sweaty palms encircled the sore indentation.  She pulled it away, slamming into a heavy fire door, and kicked her shoes.  She ran barefoot beside Mulder out into a cold, dark alley.

“Keep going,” she said.  “Not far enough.”

“I meant what I said,” he said between strides.

“You were making a point.”

“I was making a point.  Successfully, I might add.  But I also meant what I said.”

“Do you mean the part about being nice and slow?  Because I have never known that to be the case.”

“Our lives have been endangered every time we’ve had sex. That’s not exactly the setting for optimal performance. And you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

She swallowed hard, preparing herself for the moment they’d stop running, the moment she’d have to look at his face and face the truth.  

There was a slam, the fire door opened and shut again, then the voices of the men, talking animatedly as they pondered their next move.  The winter chill bit at her shoulders and she shuddered as they paused to clock their surroundings, activate their inner compasses.  Mulder took off his jacket and pulled her closer, sliding it around her back.  Scully’s nose brushed against the fabric of his shirt, circling the shiny little black button there.  

“This mission is over,” she whispered.

“ _So you’re off-duty_ ,” he quipped.  She hesitated, trying to remember the exact wording –

“ _I’m completely defenseless_.”

“ _So am I_ ,” he said, the sweetest Bond she’d ever seen.  She placed her fingers against his lips, her forehead just beneath the hot clouds of his breath.  The voices had stopped.  And then there was one angry sounding sentence and the door slammed shut again. Apparently, James Bond and Miss Moneypenny were not valuable enough for a chase in the cold.

She pulled Mulder deeper into the shadow of the alley as she kissed him, inching her back against a brick wall. Her hands crawled and grabbed up his shirt, making the long journey to his neck.  It was a more thorough kiss than any of the others they’d shared, a wider search, a precise locating of teeth and tongues.  But his mouth tasted similarly of danger.  How did he taste when there was nothing to worry about but sleeping through an alarm clock the next morning. 

Tiny sounds vibrated in his chest as he tasted the cartilage of her ear, rolled his head against the fingers in his hair.  She pressed her center against him, wanting him to feel what he’d so admired the sight of. He squeezed her ass tight with two hands, then moved them up to her back, and she bit his chest, feral at the scent of blood-soaked cotton. 

“Do you want me to fuck you,” he said into the corner of her forehead, nudging at her for another kiss. This wasn’t as elegant a setting as they were used to, but it was still neutral territory, still the official site of their reconnaissance.  She nodded as their noses folded into one another and he wrapped his hands around her waist, moving to catch her under the thighs as she opened her legs and lifted herself against him.  Bits of gravel dug into her heels as they scrambled up the fine cloth of his pants – she was so cold she almost considered sliding them into his back pockets.  This was ridiculous – fucking her partner barefoot in a cold, filthy alley.  He reached for his fly and she pulled her mouth away.

“Stop.”  

She dropped her hips back against the wall.  He froze and swallowed, placed her back down on the floor, one foot at a time.  He smoothed the jacket around her shoulders. Here was the real danger, the loss they’d both feared and anticipated.  But it was time for this game to end.

“Okay,” he said with morbid resignation, nodding as if he’d expected this.  She shook her head no and looked up at him. 

“In my bed,” she said.  “Where no one can take you away.”


End file.
